


Sounds Just As Cool The Day After

by Still_beating_heart



Series: Yes Really, A Chipmunk [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Chipmunk Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Nothing serious, Some wedding day jitters but that's just Stiles, The pack is in the background mostly, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26861095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart
Summary: Derek, in every form, his husband.  Yep, still sounds just as cool the day after the wedding as it did the night of.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Yes Really, A Chipmunk [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911907
Comments: 15
Kudos: 94
Collections: A Very Sterek Fall 2020





	Sounds Just As Cool The Day After

**Author's Note:**

> You don't have to read the whole series to enjoy the wedding, but here's the gist of it: Stiles gets turned into a chipmunk after accidentally happening upon a witch. Turns out it's his true shift, not just a temporary spell. In the meantime, he and Derek fall in love (of course). The Scurry is Stiles's Army of Chipmunks and he's going to take over the world with them (if he can bridge the language gap). Brownie Thunder is the cat they inherited after Stiles fed it for awhile. And Derek is full shift.
> 
> ****'s are POV switches, ----'s are time jumps.

Sounds Just As Cool The Day After

Stiles paces across the room. Again. Finding something very interesting on the tip of his thumb that must be chewed off before he dares looking out over the lawn. The lawn that is full. Of People. All dressed up. Ready for a wedding. A wedding. That is going to happen. It is going to happen. 

The leaves have begun to change, deep hues of red, bright yellows, saturated oranges flipping and twirling in the breeze. Thin white clouds rimmed in Autumn grey sliding across the sky beyond the fingers of bare branches that arch and scrape through the atmosphere. 

There are bouquets of happy sunflowers, mums, cock’s comb. Yes. Cock’s comb. That was Stiles’s pick. He had say in that. Even if Lydia rolled her eyes and gave him the stare down, but they match! They fit into the whole color scheme. And they have an awesome name, right? They do.

Everyone is dressed in their finest Fall flattery. There’s floofy hair and fluffy tails, there’s furry friends chewing on birdseed and even furrier friends, um, not being furry. Because this is a wedding. Not a fight. 

“It’s just,” his hands fly up to his hair and tug through it. Lydia sighs, her high heeled whatever fancy brand of shoe clacking it’s way over to him and flattening it out again, “there’s so many people.”

“Yes Stiles,” she grabs his shoulders, spinning him around to face her, “we talked about this. These people are here for you,” smoothing his jacket over his shoulder, flattening his tie even though he immediately tugs at it again. She stomps her foot, rolls her eyes and tugs it tight. He’s suffocating. He is going to be hung by his tie before he gets a chance to go down there and say his vows to Derek. And this is the end! This is the end of his life, “they are here to support you. Because they love you,” her eyes are boring holes into his head, if she doesn’t murder him with his tie, then she will burn his brain out of his skull with her glare, “and they are here to see a wedding.”

“I know,” his arms flail out at his sides, swiping a glass off the nightstand and sending the water flying across the room.

And then of course, the door flings open and Stiles totally doesn’t at all startle and turn into a chipmunk. He doesn’t do that because he has his shift under control. Completely under control. And now all that work that Lydia did to get him dressed and ready for the big day is in a heap on the floor and he’s leaving it behind to scurry up Derek’s pant leg and he totally, “shouldn’t be seeing each other right now,” he launches himself off his belt to scrabble his way up his arm and roost on his shoulder.

“Probably shouldn’t have slept together last night either.”

“Or moved in with each other before the wedding.”

“Or had se…”

“And now I’m leaving,” Lydia announces, “he’s all yours Derek,” she pats his chest on the way out, “I can stall for maybe ten more minutes. With bird seed,” and she’s gone. 

Stiles licks his paws, slides them through his hair and shimmies up to Derek’s neck, holding his jaw with one paw and his ear with the other, “I’m a mess.”

“You’re just nervous.”

“And you’re not. You know all those people? Neither do I. I don’t know half those people. That old lady down there is, like, my great aunt or something, and she couldn’t have been that great because I don’t even know her. She pinched my cheeks earlier Derek! She pinched my cheeks!”

“You have very pinchable cheeks.”

“I’m talking about the cheeks on my face. You, sir, are talking about the cheeks on my ass. And that would just be weird if some old lady who is supposedly my aunt pinched my butt cheeks.”

Derek chuckles and it rumbles his whole body. Stiles topples over, lying on his belly on Derek’s shoulder, tapping his paw on his chest idly. Derek is silent for a moment, it feels like an eternity, before he sighs, sitting down heavily on the bed and wondering, “do you want to do this?”

“No! No. I mean yes. I mean, I…” he jumps off Derek’s shoulder and shifts back to human. 

Derek doesn’t look at him. Probably because Stiles said he didn’t want to go down there and marry him. But that’s not what he meant. 

Stiles pulls himself to seated on the mattress beside Derek, pulls a pillow over to cover his junk, “I mean yes. I mean yes always. I want to get married and stay that way until we’re old and wrinkly and giving each other snark and sass, and still completely madly in love. Maybe you can push me up against a wall and break my hip. But the thing is, I don’t want to go down there and get married because there are so many people down there. And that’s not what a wedding is about. A wedding is for two people who love each other to get married, and it’s about the marriage Derek. Not about who’s wearing what, or who has a plus one and who doesn’t, or about who screwed up the vow, and how poorly I missed your mouth when we kiss because you know I will! I’ll miss your mouth and I’ll probably trip on my way down the aisle, and knock over the little pillar thingies with the flowers on them and domino effect that right down the row of chairs or something and…”

“Stiles,” he turns suddenly, and his face is just right there in front of Stiles, his hands rise up to take his jaw in his hands, keeping his eyes super laser focused steady on Stiles’s, “we don’t have to do this. We can elope.”

“No. Yes, we could. I mean. But no. We have all these people here for us and even if it’s not really what we wanted, don’t tell me you wanted it, I know you don’t,” his finger jabs into Derek’s sternum and he’s pretty sure it snaps right in half but he shakes off the excruciating pain and plows ahead, with a deep breath, “okay. Let’s do this. Get it over with before Brownie Thunder eats the whole Scurry.”

“BT is wearing a tux, she is busy attacking that. She’s not going to go after the Scurry.”

“The Scurry is wearing scarves. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that Isaac had something to do with that.”

“Probably. They have little hand-warmer pockets in them that are full of peanuts. It’ll keep them busy and in place for the ceremony.”

“Or they’ll scuttle out in the aisle and get stepped on. Can we just,” he sighs, focus skipping off Derek’s features for a moment to look beyond him out the window where he is sure the entirety of the state of California is milling around out there. 

Derek grabs his face, very gently, with both hands, a finger clips his chin and he guides his gaze, “as soon as we get through this, and we will get through this. As soon as we sit long enough to eat dinner, since we did spend kind of a lot of money on it. And I’m hungry. As soon as we let Lydia take pictures, we can take off. And do this the old way.”

“The old way?”

“There is an old Hale tradition.”

“Oh Hale no! Derek! No! If it’s some freaky full-shift…”

“Have you been reading supernatural romance…”

“Because a wolf and a chipmunk! Derek! A chipmunk, I am a tiny…”

“Stiles,” he growls it and Stiles's whole body snaps to full attention, “get your head out of the gutter. Take a breath, and get your damn clothes on.”

——————

Holy Hale! He made it down the aisle without tripping over anyone or anything and he made it through the vows without panicking and he looked at Derek the whole time while Derek was looking at him and he was so perfect and he totally didn’t flail at all when he leaned in to kiss him because there was so much blood rushing in his ears and so much fuzz in his eyes, his heart was beating in every inch of his body and he totally tripped on the way back down the aisle but that’s why he has the broodywolf himself. To keep him on his own two feet. Of course. 

Dinner is served, and dinner is delicious. Lydia took about ten million photos and ordered everyone around to get them in exactly the right positions with exactly the right smiles and now there is dancing. 

Oh, and Derek is totally dancing! He is not getting out of this! This is his wedding night and it is going to be perfect. And to make it perfect, Derek needs to dance with him. His husband! Yep, that’s right, Stiles is his forever, and the maniacal laugh that escapes him only happens when he’s pulling Derek out on the dance floor and he’s maybe mildly buzzed but not much because who the hell wants to be drunk on their wedding night? Not Stiles, not at all, Stiles wants to remember everything in vivid detail. Well, except for the sheer terror of having all these people here. Still. Though a lot of the people he doesn’t know left, so that’s good. And now he just doesn’t care, because no one is paying attention anymore, since almost everyone else is drunk, so it’s all good. It is all good, and it’s totally all good if he just pops his hips from side to side, grinds back a little on Derek, leading him out by his tie. His tie that is draped over Stiles’s shoulder and he’s so not getting out of this. He’s also not exactly resisting. So that’s weird. That is out of the ordinary. That is out of character.

Especially since it’s hip-grinding, jumpin’ and jivin’ kind of music. Stiles tilts his head to look over his shoulder at Big Guy, who hasn’t a care in the world right now. It makes him go all gooey on the inside. 

The dance floor is a little rowdy and he’s glad the Scurry took off as soon as the bird seed was finished, otherwise they’d be stiletto kill on the dance floor. He’s not sure how he feels about his dad busting out his official Dad Moves, but Melissa seems to be busting out her official Mom Moves so it suits. 

Speaking of suits, the jacket should have gone hours ago. He shrugs out of it, and accidentally wafts all that pit stench up into Derek’s sensitive wolfy nose. To his credit, he only recoils a little bit, “oh I’m sorry, is my human anxiety stench troubling to you?”

“Nope,” a tiny smile slides it’s way over his face, “not at all,” as he slips his own jacket off. And the suits, by the way, are a very attractive combo of brown and maroon, white shirts and there are little orange flowers on the ties. Both pants are a light brown, Stiles’s jacket is maroon while his vest is the brown of Derek’s jacket and Derek’s vest is the maroon of Stiles’s jacket. Complicated enough? Blame Lydia. It’s very Fall fashion forward according to her. Stiles is pretty sure he would have preferred Derek in green or blue, but according to Lydia they should have gotten married in summer or spring if they wanted more vivid colors. 

“Oh, oh I see how it is. This is serious is it? You’re going to actually bust out something aren’t you? You’re going to pull some kind of ‘surprise I’ve been taking dance classes for six months getting ready for this special night so I could impress the pants off my brand spankin’ new husband’ thing. Husband, hey! Try that on for size, dude, it sounds pretty good,” he wiggles his eyebrows to go with it.

That smile is getting seriously cocky. And Stiles isn’t really sure how he feels about it. He’s nearly certain he’s about to become prey. Right out here on the dance floor. Right out here in front of Dad. And the pack. And maybe god or something too. 

Derek tosses his jacket off to the side, and it lands ever so artfully on an empty chair. 

“Ooooh Hale, it’s on,” Stiles tosses his jacket, it totally gets grabbed by a random gust of wind and nearly lands right back on him. He rolls his shoulders, plays it cool and kicks the jacket off the floor. It does not get caught on his shoe for even a second, not even enough to have to wiggle his foot. Nope. Doesn’t happen.

Everyone else is slowly making their way off to the edges, “it’s so on,” he tells Derek, thinking he’s playing chicken, he’s just trying to intimidate Stiles into realizing everyone is watching them and turn into a chipmunk under the pressure. Joke is on Derek. Because Stiles dances to win. And he’s got skin in the game, he throws down the first sprinkler, Derek responds with a shopping cart and Stiles goes for the robot. Derek grins, pops a twerk and Stiles nearly trips over his own jaw. The entire damn crowd roars loud enough that no one heard the very manly squeak that came out of Stiles’s mouth. And when Derek stands back up fully, he reaches for Stiles’s hand and drags him into his chest, motioning to the DJ (otherwise known as any pack member who is nearest the table set up with a few speakers and a Spotify), which at this moment happens to be Erica who is smirking something fierce and Stiles is not sure what to think about any of this. 

Oh, and Stiles knows this song. He knows it on the very first note. How could he not? The first note is literally, “Owooo,” and the whole pack sings it. Heads tilted back, mouths rounded, chests puffed out, and bellies flat. It’s the most beautiful owooo Stiles has ever heard. 

So it’s not the greatest song for dancing, but they make it work. And it’s damn fun! And that smile, Derek’s smile. Good lordy of lords, it makes everything is this whole damn world feel right. Especially when it’s plastered against Stiles’s face before it presses together and becomes a kiss that melts him from the tip of the top right on down to the uh, bottom of the bottom? Yep, that. 

He leans his forehead against Derek’s when the kiss breaks. And just lingers there. Catching his breath, soaking in the moment, knowing it’ll never happen again, not here, not like this, but that kiss and that smile. Those are his. Those belong to Stiles now. And for the rest of their lives. And that is so damn cool. 

****************

Derek leans into Stiles’s neck, letting his senses be overrun with the scent of mate and happiness. His entire world is wrapped in his arms on the dance floor, the music slowly fading in and out of his consciousness, the beat of Stiles’s heart a soothing echo against his ribcage. 

“Don’t hide that Stimile Sourwolf, the world deserves to see it.”

Derek huffs out a sigh, watching it travel down his husband’s bare skin, rising goosebumps in it’s wake.

“I know, we talked about it. And Stimile is not great, it’s not my finest, but it’s a real thing, Derek! It is a real thing. Every smile that is fond and fed up at the same time, is a smile that I, Stiles Stilinski, has caused. Therefore a Stiles Smile becomes a Stimile. And you have the best one, dear.”

He waits for the rest of that sentence. When nothing comes out, he leans his head away from his safe place, eyebrow arched.

“Dear. That’s all. Just dear. Or would you prefer honey?”

“I’d prefer…”

“Broodywolf. Sourwolf. Crabbywolf. Because I prefer Smilewolf. With a Stimile to be exact,” and he boops Derek’s nose.

Derek rolls his eyes, peeling his gaze off Stiles’s flushed cheeks, dancing eyes, and slightly sweat filmed skin. Taking note of the wreckage caused to their yard throughout the night. It’s not bad. A few odds and ends that will need to be picked up before the end of the night, some leftover food that won’t go to waste. Some of the wolves passed around a bottle of spiked punch specifically formulated by Erica to get them tipsy but not drunk. Carefully doled out by Boyd, it seems to be working. 

Most of the crowd has drifted away, headed home after thanks and congrats and all the formalities. The part Derek hates the most, when people touch him or hug him, people he doesn’t even know. He’s itching to peal off the layers of starchy, stiff fabric. Restlessness having set in, wanting to howl his joy across the Preserve. 

Scanning the dance floor, some couples clinging to each other to the sappy tunes that someone put on the playlist. He’s not sure who. Probably Stiles. No one would notice if they took off. Maybe Melissa would. She’s begun the cleaning up process and he should probably go over and help her, but last time he tried, she hit him with a spoon and told him to dance with his husband.

Husband. Derek feels the corners of his lips lift as his eyes land on him, his husband. He’s had a look of wonder on his face for most of the night, content to just hang on to Derek’s shoulders and let him take the lead, a few missed steps and overenthusiastic shimmies have left his toes sore, or would be sore if not for advanced healing. 

His body warm and solid in Derek’s grip. He doesn’t feel like a hummingbird trying to burst through his own skin anymore, not like he did at the beginning of the night. Derek knows that now is the time. He pulls his features into that practiced smoldering look, one he knows will make Stiles squeak and roll his eyes at the same time, and drops his voice down to the level that he knows will make his entire body tremble with the cheesy words that exit his lips, leaning against his earlobe, tugging it between his teeth to know he has his full attention, “wanna get out of here?”

“Why, Hale, I thought you’d never ask,” his hand rises to fan at his face, but he mostly misses and clips Derek’s nose then rebounds off his forehead before he gives up and goes nearly limp in Derek’s arms, “carry me.”

“Nope. We need to be discreet.”

“Why? Wait,” he’s bolt straight again just like that, “are we doing the thing? Are we doing the Hale family thing? Where we run off into the night and get werewolfy married under the light of the full moon? The Harvest moon? The Autumnal, uh… Derek?” he follows after him as soon as Derek turns to make his way off the floor.

And discreet is already a long gone option, “get behind the house and drop your drawers.”

His mouth drops open when Derek looks over his shoulder, his fingers pinching down on Derek’s sleeve where it’s rolled up to his elbow, “no, wait, no, that’s not…” he gapes. And doesn’t finish his sentence. But follows Derek anyway. 

They’re in the dark shadows of the side yard by the time he gets words to come out again, “wait, a minute here mister,” finger jabbing into Derek’s sternum. He can’t hide the flinch, shaking his hand out exaggeratedly, “if we’re doing some kind of old fashioned claiming ceremony, then I need to be in the know before it happens. If there is some kind of kinky ritual that’s going to happen in front of all the pack, and all the family, and all the gods and demons alike, then I need to…”

Derek grabs the front of his shirt, backs him into the side of the house, “claiming? Is that what you want? Huh?”

“I,” his mouth hangs open. Closes again. Opens. And stays that way. Eyes wide, reflecting the light of the moon and the rest of their life still to come.

Derek grins, leans in to kiss him, dropping his shoulders and cracking his neck, “get naked. And shift. We’re going for a run.”

“A run?” now he’s pinched in disbelief, “I know I had too much cake and all, but seriously, you’re already worried about my waistline? A run,” as he’s bending down to unlace his shoes, “in the dark. On our wedding night,” sliding the tie off with a snap aimed at Derek’s butt, he misses by about a mile and tosses the offending object to the grass, “or wait?! Is this some kind of mating run?! By the light of the…”

“No. Mating runs happen in the Spring,” he tells him with a straight face. To which, Stiles gapes a little and Derek quirks an eyebrow before he can blush any further up his face. 

“Oh, you’re so funny. I’ll get you for that, you know,” jerking his shirt off his shoulders, “maybe I’ll start a mating run. With the pack. And then it’ll be a real thing. And we’ll, um, yeah. No. We would’t want that. None of those people are ready to have babies. And neither are we. Are we? No. Don’t answer that. Some day. Right?”

“Right.”

“Like fifty of them. All fluffy and cute and lovable and squeezable and huggable.”

Derek is already stripped. And waiting. When Stiles rights himself after tripping his way out of his pants, his eyes stop on Derek’s dick and he grins, “that for me Hale?”

“Later,” as Stiles’s hand is reaching out to grab hold of his hip, he shifts.

“Show off,” shaking his head before he disappears and comes back up furry and tiny, struggling his way out of the pile of boxers and dress pants that he somehow got trapped in. He grabs hold of Derek’s leg, shimmies his way up and takes hold of the fur of his ruff, “ready. Why do you not have a saddle for me yet? Or at least,” Derek doesn’t give him any more warning, just takes off full speed, “reins! Damnit Derek,” he can feel his back feet scrabbling for purchase on his back as Stiles reams him out for nearly losing him already.

He bolts through the edge of the crowd as they all catch sight of them, cheering and hollering. It’s not far into the woods before Stiles is crooning in his ear, “hey there Little Red Riding Hood, you sure are looking good, you’re everything that a Big Bad Wolf could want, owooo,” he pauses just long enough to admit, “that was a good one, by the way, did not see that one coming back there on the dance floor. Which is shocking since I see everything coming,” except for the little tree branch that Derek ducks under and Stiles gets knocked off his back by, “damn it!”

Derek circles back around, nose to the ground to find him, make sure he’s okay. He probably should have warned him. In his chipmunk body, he really should have more wherewithal by now. 

An acorn crashes through the trees, pelting Derek smack in the middle of the forehead. Stiles’s evil laugh echoes through the woods, the sound of his feet scampering their way up bark and launching himself over to the next branch. 

Derek snorts, turning on the trail, trotting along under the canopy as scents of Autumn waft around him, the route that Stiles has picked out. Leaves of yellow, brown, red, and orange rain down under his little body, drifting and twirling to the ground like bread crumbs to lead him back home when the night is over. 

Stiles has no idea where he’s going, finally stopping when he gets tired and scampering back down the tree partway to swan dive onto Derek’s back, “okay, Big Guy, his paws kneading into the thick fur between Derek’s shoulder blades, “lead the way,” a yawn cutting him off, “I’m just going to nap for a minute,” Derek takes off again. Full speed to the sound of Stiles’s unintelligible chattering of disapproval. 

———————

The night is chilling around them, the cool of Fall gripping the woods. Scent of dying chlorophyll lingering in every inch of the Preserve. It’s become a dream, a reality blurred over with vivid colors of Nature, darkened with smudges of nighttime. The way Derek’s body works in shift, effortless to maintain a quick speed. The wild in him that lurks beneath his human skin, set free and unashamed now. He drinks in the sight of the woods cloaked in darkness, only the glow of the moon to illuminate the mixed vegetation. His breath coming out in hot huffs when he treks up the steep slope, he slows his pace, shakes his body to nudge Stiles out of his stupor. Feeling him startle and admit, “I’m awake,” his weight shifting onto his back feet, tail twitching a few times against Derek’s back, “holy Hale,” he breathes as Derek crests the hill.

At the top is a spread of blankets and pillows, a small canopy that’s lit dimly with solar lights. There are bundles of flowers hanging from each corner. Wildflowers litter the ground around the clearing. A steep drop at the edge provides an overlook of miles of the Preserve. The lights of their house in the distance. The party carrying on without them far into the night. Probably the following morning.

Derek grunts, laying down on his belly, waiting for Stiles to climb down. He scampers off quickly and starts darting around the space, clawing his way up the tent pole to sniff at the flowers and reach out to tap the lights. Twitching with nervous energy again, sliding back down, diving into the pillows. All four paws jolting into the pile of blankets a few times and then taking off to check out the cooler, sniffing along the seam of it, darting back to the pillows and shifting back.

Derek’s heart thuds hard in his chest as his vision is met with the pale expanse of his husband’s flesh. Taking his time to look over every gorgeous inch of him until he gets squirmy under the scrutiny and pats the blanket beside him, “don’t judge. It’s cold out and I no longer have my fur coat. Now get over here and warm me up.”

Derek sighs, getting to all fours and stalking over slowly, releasing his shift as he moves. Sliding back into his human form, by the time he’s leaning over his husband, he’s full human and Stiles’s hands are already slipping around his shoulders, his legs wrapping around his hips, drawing Derek inward to settle over him. Lifting his head to meet Derek’s lips with his own, his skin soft and warm. The type of heat that seeps into every pore, settling over every nerve zapping with mate, and happy, and forever.

“This the big tradition, huh? A little love nook in the middle of the woods?”

“Mostly,” Derek shrugs, “used to be that the couple would live in the wild for a week directly following the ceremony. This little spot set up by the pack as an offering for comfort before the week begins without any material things, or human amenities.”

Stiles hums, his fingers playing patterns on the nape of Derek’s neck, “why aren’t we doing a week in the wild? Think I’m too delicate, or what?”

“Not at all,” Derek leans down to press his lips into the dip of his throat, waiting for Stiles to arch his head back and bare it fully, “I know you’re not even a little bit delicate. The tradition just kind of faded away with,” he pauses, not really knowing how to finish that sentence. His parents still did the run, and the week of nature, but without them, with Peter as the last remaining Hale of that generation, it just seems empty. 

“Either way, it’s deep enough into Fall that my little chipmunky body would need more heat than something more badass like a bear would. That would be, did you ever have any bears or anything in your family? I mean, I know you are all wolves but maybe a married in, or a cousin or something,” his heart stutters when Derek ghosts his lips over his skin, and his train derails, “hey, maybe we do a nature thingy, week of communing with the woods and talking to the trees in the Spring. And then maybe it could coincide with mating season,” his eyebrows wiggle.

“I thought babies were for ten years from now.”

“Or something. But Derek, we can mate all we want and not have babies,” his hand rises, slapping down on Derek’s ass, “so let’s just go ahead and do that.”

“Romantic.”

“My middle name of course is Romantic, I’ll have you know.”

“No it’s not,” Derek mumbles, leaving an off-centered kiss on his lips.

“No, it’s not,” Stiles agrees, turning his head minutely to capture Derek in a real kiss. 

****************

Stiles wakes with the scent of nature infiltrating his nostrils with dead leaves and damp ground, Earthy and wonderful. Thinking it’s time to bust out his fleece-lined flannels soon, Hale yeah! Yes, even in California, a man needs seasonal flannels. 

The broodyheat emanating from the body that’s mostly behind him, but Stiles’s limbs have found their way to be half-pinned and half-sprawled so it’s kind of a toss-up of what position anyone really sleeps in. But it’s warm, warm enough that he throws an arm out of the blankets, is met with crisp air that makes him want to yelp a little, or maybe he does, and when his hand tugs on the blanket to shove himself back under for that glorious heat, he gasps, “shit Derek! Our rings!” wrapping his hand around Derek’s forearm to shake him violently awake. As if he’s not already awake, he always wakes up as soon as Stiles’s breathing shifts to wake breathing, or before that, and does that creepy stare-at-Stiles-while-he-sleeps thing. Not that Stiles actually really minds. If Derek is only comfortable showing his deep and true affection when Stiles is still sleeping, then so be it. Stiles isn’t exactly a big public romantic gesture kind of a guy either.

“Our rings,” Derek sighs, and holy Hale, his voice is actually still sleep gruff! 

“They’re probably lost for all eternity in the side yard with our piles of clothing and who knows who cleaned up and if they were careful and…”

“They’re fine. After neither of us losing our engagement rings for the time we’ve been wearing them…”

“I totally trust you, that you had a plan or the foresight to put them in our pockets before you took off running, or whatever it is you always do with our rings when we shift and forget to take them off first and how, Derek, do you even remember to do that stuff? Every time? Like every time when we take off to run or fight or investigate, and you still,” he tosses his body, struggling with the weight of Derek’s heavy ass arms, and his still mostly asleep frame, but he manages to win the battle and come up facing Derek to wonder. Wow. Dim morning light laying golden on his skin, his eyes reflecting all of nature and every thing that Stiles loves about him is so open and just right there in his expression, before the day can come in and guard it. Damn, he’s pulled by some invisible force to his lips and he stays there for a long, gross, morning kiss, and it doesn’t bother him at all. It also doesn’t bother Derek at all. His hands tracing down to pull bodies close, like he can’t bear to not be touching every inch of Stiles with every inch of himself. Questions are for later. Yep, totally for later. There are more important things to tend to right now.

———————

They don’t start making their way back home until it’s nearing dusk. Having spent the day in the comfort of their little pack-made shelter. Derek trots back out of the woods slowly, letting Stiles drift calmly in and out of his own head, watching from his position on Derek’s shoulders the way the weak sunshine lights everything in gold. The brilliant shades of yellows, oranges, and reds that only nature can provide. The scent of dying leaves and damp dirt wafting up under every clod of dirt that gets flung off Derek’s paws. 

Stiles twists his paws in Derek’s soft, downy fur, deep under the surface of the more coarse whiskery strands. Derek, in every form, his husband. Yep, still sounds just as cool the day after the wedding as it did the night of. 

Stiles feels his face lift into a smile, knowing exactly how to annoy Derek through this century and right into the next one, just the way Derek likes it. Tilting his head back to croon at the top of his lungs,

“Owoooooooo!  
What big eyes you have  
The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad."  


**Author's Note:**

> Lil' Red Ridin' Hood by Sam The Sham Songwriters: Ronald Blackwell  
> Lil' Red Ridin' Hood lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, BMG Rights Management, Songtrust Ave
> 
> Big thanks to Audrey and Iris for putting on [ A Very Sterek Fall 2020 ](https://averysterekfall.tumblr.com) and in doing so, inspiring me to write a Fall wedding! 
> 
> Thanks friends :) Kudos are super awesome!


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